


Confession

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25049434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Following the episode "The Smell of Music," Klinger regrets how things turned out.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 17





	Confession

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. You know when my last confession is... it’s impossible for me to keep track because I keep pulling double shifts in the OR.”

Mulcahy smiled. “Try not to view the workload as a punishment, my son. You’re wanted in OR because you do good work and because you’re one of the few people who can maintain a good attitude through that horror show. We need you.”

“Thanks, Father. You sure know how to lift a guy up.”

“Specialized training in moving all things heavenward,” the priest joked. “But I’ve interrupted your confession. Please go on.”

In truth, Mulcahy was grateful for Klinger. The Corporal’s choice to uphold these rituals gave the priest an opportunity to practice his trade and the rituals themselves grounded him. And he never feared for Klinger’s soul; he might covet a dress, play at dice, or engage in a little black market bargaining, but he was too good a man for evil to find a foothold anywhere in the hills or valleys of his spirit.

“Father, do you remember the attack Major Houlihan led on Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt and Major Winchester a few weeks ago?”

“Why certainly.” It had been quite a sight to see! The Captains had been engaged in a rather disgusting form of blackmail: they refused to bathe until Winchester set aside his French horn. Margaret ended the stalemate when she had the stinky surgeons saturated and scrubbed down... and had the horn run over by a jeep (to great aplomb). Afterwards, Colonel Potter had decreed that the Swamp Rats - newly cleaned and severely silenced - would buy a round of drinks for everyone in camp at the Officer’s club to apologize for all the trouble they’d been causing.

“Well, that’s where the sin is. Was. I think. It didn’t seem like it at the time, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Go on, my son. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Alright. Well, you know I helped Major Houlihan. And it was fun at first. Everyone was laughing and cheering. Even you, Father! But then I saw his face and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Whose face, my son?”

“Major Winchester’s. I know he was driving everybody crazy with that horn, but he looked so lost. And if you think about it, Hunnicutt and Pierce didn’t  _ lose _ anything. They were going to have to shower eventually. But we actually took something away from the Major and I don’t know if we were right to do it.”

This reinterpretation of the events rocked Mulcahy back on his heels. It was true that the horn had been annoying, but it hadn’t hurt anyone. And had it really been any more of a disturbance than his use of a punching bag? Or Potter cantering his horse around? Maybe they had been wrong- all of them. “My son, I’m glad you brought this to me. I can see now that we may have been too quick to punish Major Winchester for the sins - or at least the scents - of his fellows. Let us pray for forgiveness together.”

Klinger felt a little awed at this - he and the priest shared a sin? - but he felt better, to, after being absolved. He knew from experience, however, that being sorry in general wasn’t going to alleviate his guilt. He had to stand before the man he’d wronged and apologize... and he had reason to believe that Winchester wasn’t going to accept his apology in good grace. But, he decided, bracing his shoulders, that was his right, being wronged.

***

The opportunity to beg the Major’s pardon came that weekend when a surprise lull had brought a party atmosphere to the camp. Friends and would-be more than friends piled into jeeps and raced for swimming holes. Colonel Potter gave the nurses riding lessons on Sophie. Ambulatory patients joined in on dancing (albeit slowly) and table tennis.

Winchester held himself stiffly apart from these festivities, as Klinger had expected him to. The man didn’t unbend easily. Not that, Klinger reflected, he ought to; he hadn’t exactly been welcomed with open arms. At least Winchester’s standoffishness made him easy to find. Saying a quick prayer to Saint Sebastian, Klinger approached. “Enjoying the quiet, Major?” he began, then thinking of the silenced horn and the connotations, he backpedaled for all he was worth. “I mean without the wounded and all? You know, no choppers?”

“You’re sounding a bit frantic, Corporal. Everything alright?”

Klinger fought to compose himself; he hadn’t counted on being quite this nervous. Was Saint Sebastian taking a siesta or what? “Yes. I mean, not really. Can I... can I talk to you, sir?”

“That remains to be seen,” Winchester said, but his tone lacked the cool cruelty he sometimes wielded (sometimes, seemingly, without even realizing it). “You aren’t making much sense so far.”

Klinger visibly searched for the words and Winchester fought back a smirk; what was the crazy Corporal up to now? He then saw Klinger give up on whatever he’d been trying to formulate and try a new tack. “Maybe it will be easier to show you. Come with me?”

This was the part where Winchester would typically refuse, but Klinger looked as hopeful as a pup that has spied its leash and, besides, he didn’t have anything else to do. So reasoning, he followed the Corporal to the O club.

Inside the empty structure, Klinger became more nervous still, certain, now, that his self-imposed act of atonement would fail. Pulling out the piano bench, he sat down and looked up into Winchester’s expectant, patrician face.

“This is it,” he said without preamble. “I found someone in Seoul that would tune it. He was here last week.”

“And? What does this have to do with me?”

Damn. This wasn’t going to work. Should he lie?

“Major, I feel real bad about what happened with your horn. I wanted to say sorry. I know this isn’t the same thing, but this place is empty all day. I thought it could be a replacement sort of.”

Charles was watching him with a strange expression. “How do you know that I can play?”

“I’ve seen you when you listen to your records. Your fingers move.”

As he possessed such a meager share of privacy in Korea, this knowledge should have felt like a trespass, but even if it was disconcerting to think that Klinger had secretly looked in on him when he thought himself alone, he was using the knowledge to be kind. Charles couldn’t remember the last time (first time?) someone had been kind to him at the 4077th.

He realized then that Klinger had crawled out on something of a limb to offer this musical olive branch; he looked like he very much expected it to crack. Trying to make his voice contain the gratitude and surprise he felt, he said, “Thank you, Max.”

Klinger seemed to shiver almost at the sound of his name, but then he quickly broke into a beautiful smile.

He hadn’t intended to offer, but that smile... it deserved an answering gesture. “Shall I play for you?”

***

It became a gentle ritual, as private and sustaining as Church. When the blood on the floor of the OR seemed up to their ankles, when Klinger’s wrists swelled with the strain of bearing broken men on litters, when Charles’ dreams were composed entirely of screams, they sat together in the empty club and Charles played and Klinger listened.

As they became more comfortable with one another, the Corporal sat on the bench with him, trying to make his eyes believe in the magic of those fingers as they summoned, gentled, commanded, and released notes. Charles had tried to explain to him that he was a competent player only, not a gifted one, but Klinger didn’t believe it. The music did things to the space beneath his breastbone; sometimes it stole his breath.

One night near to Christmas, they stayed forever despite the chill; their breaths hung in the air like the ghosts of expired notes. Klinger sat on the piano bench, knees pulled up, facing away from Winchester. As he grew drowsy, his head lolled back and rested on Winchester’s shoulder. The physician chuckled but didn’t miss a note.

At the song’s conclusion, he stayed still, Klinger’s body warm against his side. “If you fall asleep, I’ll be forced to carry you back to your tent. I imagine we’ll turn quite a few heads.”

“I’ve been part of stranger couples,” Klinger told him sleepily. “Like with Hawk when his eyes got damaged in that stove explosion.” 

Charles’ hand trailed over the keys, summoning a cluster of wistful notes. “I have never been part of any couple, strange or otherwise,” he said quietly, almost to himself. 

Klinger didn’t move, but Charles could feel a new alertness in his body where it rested against him. “How did that happen, Major?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re talented. You have a good job. You’re smart. What happened?” 

“I could offer a contrasting negative for each of those kind observations.”

“Everybody has flaws, silly. You’re still starting out with a hell of a lot more than most people.” He yawned enormously then and Charles laughed. 

“Here.” He shifted him so that Klinger’s head was in his lap. 

“Can you still play like this?”

“I imagine. I’ve never tried. You have a request?”

Klinger hummed a perfect rendition of something that Charles had played. 

“Maxwell, did you know that song before I played it for you?”

“No.”

He had only played it once. “Can you remember any of the others?”

Klinger cycled through the beginnings of three others before pausing. “Sure.”

Charles shook his head. It seemed that the strange destiny which had sent him to Asia also intended that he should be continually and pleasantly surprised by the Lebanese Corporal he had taken on as a friend. “You have quite the ear for music.”

“Not just music. I can remember almost anything if someone teaches it to me. I didn’t get to go to school like you did, sir, but I used to go to lectures at the library. I like to learn things.” 

“Klinger, would you like to learn to play?” 

“Sure.” 

He turned out to be a pleasure to begin to teach. Placing his hands over Klinger’s, Charles guided him as much by touch as by word. As they stood to leave for the night, Charles hesitated. “Max, I have something I would like to say to you.” 

“Go ahead, Major.”

“Music has always been a great comfort to me. When I was reassigned here, I knew it would sustain me. It has. But now I find that I must number a second force among those that comfort me in this awful place. You.” 

“Thank you, Major.”

“Thank  _ you _ , Max. Now let’s get out of the cold as much as we can, yes?” 

Klinger fell into step beside him. Once, he took his hand. And when Charles nodded to him at the door of his tent, eyes shining and filled with just him, he felt that the music had followed him home. He thought about the coming spring. If he really did learn to play, he would do so for the Father’s services. And if Charles would allow him to stay close… he didn’t dare complete the thought, not yet, but the hope was there. On that cold night it, like the hand me down piano in the cold of the club, was more than enough.

End! 

  
  



End file.
